Not Some Grand Illusion
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: "Not every dream you have is simply an illusion born of your subconscious; sometimes, what you think you're dreaming… is actually happening." .:. AndyXWoody oneshot, post-TS3. too weird of a pairing? then don't read, duhh! XD


**A/N: …I gotta stop watching the beginning and ending of TS3 before bed. It makes me dream weird things, like my own Woody doll randomly talking to me when I'm younger and in my old bedroom, LOL. It was… so weird. And yet inspiring! It made me write this out, and I actually kind of like how it turned out. ;D**

**Random note: OMG THIS IS MY 160****TH**** FANFIC! 8DDD**

**Happy (AndyXWoody) reading, you guys~ ;P**

**(omg, wtf is with me and this pairing?)**

* * *

_[ Andy X Woody ]_

_[ .Not Some Grand Illusion. ]_

_[ "Not every dream you have is simply an illusion born of your subconscious; sometimes, what you think you're dreaming… is _actually happening_." ]_

* * *

I blink my eyes open slowly. They feel gritty and heavy, weighed down with sleeplessness and "the Sandman's sleeper-dust," as my mom liked to say when I was young. Yeah, that's such a pretty way of saying "eye crust."

I rub away the gunk until the dark blue of the ceiling at night is clear above me.

I sigh to myself. I wish I would start having dreams again. I miss dreaming; ever since I came to college, I've been too stressed to have any dreams come to me at night. That, or they've come and gone, forgotten into a blackish-grey oblivion before I awoke. Either way it happened, it doesn't matter. I've been dreamless, and it bothers me.

I throw my forearm over my eyes and blow a raspberry out of my mouth. My roommate is across from me, sawing logs in his own twin bed. I envy him. I can hear him murmur incoherent clips of phrases, blissfully wrapped up in a dream. Why can't I do the same? Where's my peace of mind?

You're supposed to dream, I was told in high school. In psychology class, my teacher explained that dreams are necessary for life. If you don't dream, you can become mentally ill or even more stressed or even physically sick. And who wants any of _that_?

Definitely not me.

So why can't I dream anything lately? It's driving me crazy, since I used to have such pleasant dreams…

I remember a time when I was fourteen, and for eight consecutive nights, I had one of those reoccurring dreams. True, it was a little different each time, but for that span of a little over a week, I kept having a dream that entailed the same basic thing, over and over again:

My toy cowboy, Woody, coming to life and speaking to me.

In those dreams, we'd have long conversations into the night. I was always sleepy in those dreams, drowsy and over-tired and craving rest, but I always persevered to stay awake in order to converse with my favorite toy.

One of those nights (the final one, to be exact), something special happened. Something I'll never forget, even if it had been nothing but a dream.

* * *

"_Woody?" I call softly into the night, my breathy yawn giving me away. I wish just once that this dream wouldn't torment me by making me so tired in it._

"_I'm here, Andy," my faithful cowboy responds after a while. I glance down to the crook of my arm, where I'm holding him. He's gazing up at me with gently brown eyes, his hat falling off the back of his head. I smile to myself and flick the hat off to get a better look at his face._

"_You know, I should feel silly for still sleeping with a toy at my age," I murmur casually as I look up at my ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. "I'm a freshman in high school, after all." I frown. "Well. I will be, anyway. I just had my birthday, and school won't start for a while yet."_

_Into my ribs, Woody nods his head. He climbs out from under my grip and moves to sit cross-legged on my chest, peering down at me. The brunet toy offers me a small smile. "Buck up, kiddo. You're not alone out there. I'm sure there are plenty of high schoolers-to-be who are sleeping with some stuffed animal or toy or another as we speak."_

_I snort and look away. "Yeah, right. A bunch of girls, maybe. But teenage boys? I doubt it."_

_He chuckles and leans forward to show me that he's winking in the darkness. "Well then, I suppose I should consider myself one lucky toy, huh? I'm one of the only toys who's even being cared about when his kid is practically grown up."_

_I can't help it. I smile. "Darn right. But you know, I'm not grown up just yet." I pause to yawn again. My eyelids droop slightly, and I force them back open with a brief and vigorous shake of my head. "I mean… I still need you, Woody."_

"_Is that so?" he breathes softly, as if he doesn't believe it. Then, one of the largest smiles I've ever seen on him consumes his face. "Thank you, Andy. You don't know how much that means to me."_

_I tilt my head to one side on my pillow, the rustling extremely loud in my ears for some reason. I shift a little, trying to figure out if there's a double meaning in his words or not. But I quickly drop the idea; my brain is too fuzzy to think straight._

_Unfortunately, in the process of my shifting, Woody toppled forward. It takes me a moment for my mind to register the fact that he's fallen face-first into my collarbones. I giggle despite myself, and move to right him again._

_Only… before I can touch more than a few fingers on the cloth of his back, I feel Woody's small body tense, his fingers sliding across the exposed skin of my neck and down onto my clothed chest as a sort of embrace. My brows furrow as I blink in confusion. Through my tired haze, I notice that Woody's tiny pointed nose is nuzzling into my neck._

_I take a shallow, shaky breath. I'm not sure what this means, but I can feel Woody _breathing_ – I didn't know dolls could breathe! – and his fingers (so much softer once he's alive like this) clenching into fabric. And as my hand covers his back and the other automatically shifts to cover the back of his head, Woody says something to me._

"_Please, Andy," he's saying almost too quietly for me to hear, "Don't ever forget about me."_

_My breathing stills, lungs dying in my ribcage. I sputter a nervous laugh. "Why would I ever forget about _you_?" I say. "Woody, you… you're the first and best friend I've ever had. A toy or not, that's what you are to me. I don't know if I could ever forget about you. You're too important."_

_If toys had tear ducts, I think Woody would be crying. I could feel him quivering against me, and then him shaking his head to rid himself of the unshed tears. He pulls away, ever stubborn, and sits on the edge of my shoulder, facing away from me. _

"_You say that now, but it can happen. I just… I want you to at least keep me in your memories somewhere, even if you might give me away at some point in your life. After all, people can hold on to childish things forever, right?" And he turns back to give me a smile I don't like. "But I can always be there for you anyhow. It's what toys are for."_

_I scowl, suddenly angry. I shoot up into sitting position, sleep nagging at me, but easily ignored by my sudden irritation. Woody goes soaring off. He lands on my bed in front of me. I reach out a hand and grab him by the waist. "That's not fair!" I snap at him. "You can't write me off to be like every other kid out there in the world. I'm not like that, okay? I'm going to cling to whatever scrap of my childhood that I can for as long as I'm alive." I look him straight in the eye, watching his facial expression flicker between emotions like the flame of a candle in a breeze._

_Without warning, our noses touch. Woody's expression grows soft. He reaches up a hand and ruffles my hair; I've recently decided to grow it out. The tiny cowboy's hand drifts from my bangs to my hairline to my lips, seemingly memorizing my fourteen-year-old features. I rear back, holding him out of reach, staring blankly._

"_You're right," the toy replies humbly. "I'm sorry. I should have known better, Andy. You've always been special."_

_My frown returns, this time in confusion again. I set Woody back down onto my duvet cover. "A… apology accepted, I guess," I mutter. I stare at him another lasting moment before my energy burst disappears, and I find myself falling back onto my pillow, my head as heavy as lead._

_Woody returns to his proper place between my arm and chest, laying into my side. My breathing begins to regulate, slowly, similar to the patterns of sleep._

_But I don't want to sleep just yet. I stiffen, and try to keep my eyes open. I roll over onto my side until I'm facing Woody. He's looking at me, his mouth in a toneless line. "Andy."_

"_Yeah?" I say, suppressing a yawn._

"…_Do you think this is a dream?"_

_I nod. "Course. What else would it be? Toys can't… talk," I respond. "But…" I add as I close my eyes, "Even though I know this is a dream, I'm glad that I'm having it. It's silly, but having this chance to interact with you…" I open one eye and watch his blurry expression. "Well, it's all I've ever wished for on my birthdays, when I've blown out my candles. I always whispered, 'Please, let Woody be Real some day. Really Real, like I'm Real.'" I yawn and in no time, I'm out like a light._

_But I think I hear a soft echo mumble, "Me too, Andy. Me too…" just as I'm swimming down into the ocean of other dreams._

* * *

It's all rather pathetic. I regret giving Woody to Bonnie; I regret not having him with me, here, now, at college. If I could, I'd take back that moment. I'd selfishly keep Woody for myself. I'd have to make sure he remained a secret while I went to school, but once I get married and have children of my own, Woody will make a great keepsake and toy for my kids.

So why didn't I keep him? Why didn't I keep my dream-promise to be different?

I hate it. I hate that I feel like I need the companionship of a non-living being. And I hate that I feel so lost in college without some sort of security blanket to cling to.

And worst of all, I hate the fact that I'm beginning to wonder if I had dreamt any of those meetings at all. Because, as I look back on it, everything had felt so very real…

…What's more, I know for a fact that someone can't be sleepy in a dream; what's the point, when you're already asleep? Which means: was that some grand illusion, or not one at all?


End file.
